Rosie

I am not envious of much.  That’s not particularly surprising …  I have been fortunate in life.  But there was always been one nagging desire.  I wanted a dog that would listen to me.  I love dogs.  I have had lots of dogs over the years.  I have had purebreds and mutts, AKC registered and Heinz 57, gentle dogs and nippy dogs.  Not a one of them would ever listen to me.  It was not their fault, mind you.  I did not have the patience it took to turn the raw puppy into a responsible canine citizen.  I wanted to be the dog whisperer, but was the cur yeller instead.  If I saw a dog walking, no leash, glued to hip of its master, looking up longingly for the next command, I was reminded of my failure.

That all changed about a year ago, when I picked up Rosie at the shelter.  Getting a rescue dog is always a gamble … you never know the complete story of their early life.  Rosie was very timid when I got her home.  She didn’t really wag her tail for the first few weeks. When she pulled her head away slightly when I would raise my hand, I could assume she had been regularly struck.  But with time, a lot of kindness, and an elite diet, she began to realize that she likely had a pretty good deal in her new home.  Perhaps she realized that I needed her as much as she needed me.

And, amazingly, she began to listen  … not just sit or lay down, but to just about everything I said, however I said it.  Hop in the car, let’s go for a ride, jump in … doesn’t matter, all produce the same instant result.  I just came back from a long walk on the beach.  As usual, she was off lead and running free, but never too far away.  A little whistle or a pat on my thigh brings her bolting back to me.  As we moved towards a young couple enjoying the beautiful November morning, she looked back to at me as if to ask if it was Okay to say hello.  I just nodded and off she went, rewarded by them with a little piece of beef jerky. I realized then that I was that guy with the obedient dog.  And the humbling realization that I had nothing to do with it.

That is not to say that some weirdness still in her.  My small studio in NY has a sunken main space, with parquet floors in that section.  For some irrational dog reason, parquet floors terrify her.  When she is on them, she walks as if its melting ice on a river.  A few days ago, she got caught on the bed, nothing but parquet below.  Watch her try to get off.  Lord knows what goes on in her mind, but I’m blessed to have her.